Hi. This very well might be for my own good. I have had desires or promptings lately to make a blog where I can write about whatever. I will end up talking about my faith, sports, sweet technology gadgets, or anything else that I think to be cool or not cool. I have really enjoyed my communication studies at Utah Valley University. I never imagined I would enjoy writing for fun, but I have discovered that I do. Lately I have found it to be very relaxing to type my thoughts out on the keyboard. I think writing is cool.
I have spent the past couple of days listening to the General Conference of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I cannot deny that I become very inspired to do what I feel is right after viewing these motivational meetings. I have a lot of love for the way I was brought up and the family I come from. I think a lot about grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, my sisters, my mom, and my dad when I listen to General Conference. I love my Heavenly Father and my Savior, Jesus Christ. I am very grateful for my wife and sons. All of these associations are what make me happy. I am me because of the people in my life that I love so much. People in my life, you are cool!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now I know this is going to add some serious length to my post, and I don't intend other posts to be this long. I wanted to attach an exerpt of something I wrote for one of my classes for my family. This is part of a paper written for my international communications class. The assignment was to write about a place that made us who we are. Here ya go!
My Grandparent’s House
To share with you my sense of place, as the text in chapter six explains, I must share with you stories of where I am from. Understanding who I really am, means knowing about my grandma and grandpa’s house. Every Sunday for as long as I could remember, we would go to my grandma and grandpa’s home after church. My mom comes from a family of six other siblings. That family of seven kids has resulted in over 30 something grandchildren for my grandparents. I am the third oldest of all the cousins. Most all of us, minus a couple families, lived in the area at the time. Going to grandma and grandpa’s house for dinner meant going up to a warm house full of family and fun. It was a place where my cousins and I grew together and played for hours.
To get to my grandparent’s place, you had to take an old country road out of town. Off of that country road, you would take a narrow dirt and gravel road that ended at the house. Lining the narrow dirt driveway leading to the house was a couple of pastures--usually occupied by a horse or two. There were trees, bushes, and tall grass. This made the front area a large place to explore. Hidden in those trees and tall grass was a fort. It was near that fort where a few paintball wars and showdowns had taken place.
When you made it to the actual house, which was set on several acres of land, you could park anywhere on the large dirt driveway. That driveway is where I learned that you aren’t supposed to throw rocks at car windows, because car windows shatter. Each familiar vehicle in the driveway represented and marked the attendance of a family present at that Sunday's gathering.
In front of the house was a curvy sidewalk. To the left, under a tree, was a gravel-cement bench. There was always sure to be an Easter egg hidden under that bench during the annual Easter egg hunt. To the right there were a couple of other trees set up on a small hill; under the trees there were a couple of large boulders that were really fun to jump from. The wooden door set up on the front porch is a spot of several memories. I remember standing there one night when it was time to go, which was always a sad time, holding my blanket in the cold, and looking out into the dark. I was always a little scared when I thought about what type of monster could possibly be down that long dirt driveway waiting in the shadows. Fonder memories of that front porch included standing out and yelling the name, “STOFFER!” This was my grandparent’s dog. He was some type of lean pointer-beagle mutt, and I loved him. If I stood outside of that door and yelled his name, he would be there in seconds. I miss approaching the front of the house.
The sides of the house were neat places to explore. On the left side of the house was the location of another fort. This fort was located between a few shady trees over an ivy-covered granite, mountain-like, hill of boulders. There were all sorts of nooks to hide pretend guns and fireworks inside the rock crevices and tree holes. The right side of the house is where the swing set was. Atop the swing set, which also had a slide connected, was a perfect platform for pretending you were on a huge tank taking over an army back in World War Two. Not far from the swing set was the coolest willow tree you had ever seen. It would be a lie to say that no one ever received an unwanted welt from a switch made by one of that tree's branches.
The back of the house will always be a really special place to me. The back yard was large and full of adventure. There were several trees great for climbing--especially after large pile of leaves had been raked underneath them. Many football games were played in that backyard. My cousin, Jason, would always be up for a challenge. My dad would usually be the quarterback for me, and Jason’s dad would usually be the quarterback for him. I loved the intense moments of lining up to stop a tying touchdown from happening. This yard was also the stage of some of the most fun whiffle ball games ever played. Home run derby, volleyball, and capture the flag were not uncommon events in the backyard. You knew life was good if you ended the day exhausted from a match of capture the flag.
Tucked in the back corner of the property was the pond. If you desired, you could sit out at the pond and catch perch or sunfish until you couldn’t take it anymore. The old wooden dock on the shore of the pond was half-missing from years of use, but if you were careful the dock made a fine place to fish from. There was always an adventure to be had on the pond if you dared to jump in the canoe and paddle out. Jason and I would enjoy fishing from the canoe. The canoe is where Jason and I became pirates. To this day, when I talk to Jason on the phone, we always greet each other with a hardy, “Arrgh matey!” One of our first pirate moments happened while fishing. Jason and I began yelling like a couple of pirates as each of us had a fish on the line. Because of the loud yelling, the family quickly gathered around the pond to watch the magic take place. As we each had a fish on the end of our lines, we decided--with our greatest pirate voices--to command the fish to jump over the canoe like trained dolphins. We would then wave the pole causing the fish to jump out of the murky water, over the boat, and land safely in the water on the other side of the canoe. Sea World had nothing on us. That moment will never be forgotten by anyone who witnessed it.
Of course, the inside of the house is full of so many memories. If you were not careful when you walked in the door, a stampede of toddlers would come screaming through and you might get knocked over. The house was often filled with the pleasant aroma of a slow cooking roast. A roast, some mashed potatoes, and some vegetables was what consisted of an ordinary Sunday dinner. The living in room in the back was where you would go if you wanted to watch the game. Whether it was football season, baseball season, or basketball season, the men were gathered in that room to watch a good game of some sort. It was also a really a nice place to take a nap after dinner if you were tired.
Grandma’s craft room is where the piano was. I would sit at that piano and make up music that I still remember how to play today. The craft table was often used as a stage for some type of play put on by a few of the cousins. An announcement for the play would usually be made throughout all the rooms of the house. Everyone was requested to attend these marvelous masterpieces.
A nice thing about having a lot of cousins was that it was always someone’s birthday. So, usually some time after dinner, it would be time to sing happy birthday and have cake and ice cream. When it became dark outside, everyone would gather inside. Throughout each part of the house there would be different groups of aunts and uncles gathered to chat. It was always fun to sit with the grown-ups and make some type of goofy comment; when uttering silly remarks lost its fun, there was always something else to do. Some of my favorite inside past times included the following: playing games on an old green-screened Apple computer, jumping off of furniture into a pile of couch cushions, and investigating all the cupboards you weren’t supposed to get into. There was always something to do somewhere in the house.
The sacred memories I have of going to my grandparent’s house are a part of who I am today. That world that I was privileged to be a part of will always be "my place." Since the passing of my grandpa, my grandparent's house is no longer owned by the family; but in memory, it will always be a place I can retreat to. It will always and forever be where I am from.
